


DTLA

by biggayidiot



Series: Passport [3]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: BUT NOT IN THE WAY U THINK, Blowjobs, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Phone Sex, Semi Public Sex, Smoking Kink, face fucking, flip fucking, perhaps service top Taron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayidiot/pseuds/biggayidiot
Summary: As Richard takes a drag and watches Taron on his knees, pretty and needy, his phone vibrates in his pocket again. This time it’s not a text, it’s the distinct pattern of a phone call, unrelenting and annoying. Richard groans. “You gonna answer that?” Taron says, looking up at Richard and squeezing the base of his cock.“Serious?” Richard says, a gleam in his eye.“Answer it,” Taron says.





	DTLA

**Author's Note:**

> *extremely Taron Egerton voice* ciggy
> 
> Listen getting head while smoking a cigarette after a well-deserved Emmy win is the ultimate goal and THAT’S why I’m spearheading the FYC campaign for Bodyguard. It’s what Richard deserves
> 
> Wanted to try out a fun flip fuck kind of dynamic with these two in this one! Enjoy!

Richard’s arm is getting tired. He’s weaving his way through the crowd at the Netflix Emmys after party, forced to tote his statuette around with him. He keeps setting it down and almost leaving it, downing drinks and reacting animatedly when some celebrity or executive congratulates him on his win, then wandering off before remembering, _oh, shit, I have an award to look after_. But the negatives of babysitting a heavy gold statue are far outweighed by the positives. He just won a fucking Emmy. He’s drinking expensive champagne in a fucking Armani tux at NeueHouse. Ewan fucking McGregor is fifteen feet away from him. The soreness in his arm is worth it. He’s feeling good.

He’s expecting Taron to stop by after the CAA party wraps up. Richard saw him in the crowd pre-show, greeted him with a quick hug and an extremely platonic conversation in front of the event photographers. Richard felt a little brighter, a little more awake around Taron - Taron, who could have a compelling conversation with a brick wall, who’s quick with a line and a grin, who was already holding court with the group at his table - and couldn’t resist embracing him again before he was ushered away to the orchestra section. After his win, Taron sent him a string of tipsy, congratulatory texts: _CONGRATULATIONS DICKY HO LY SHIT_ , _youre amazing mate you deserve it so much_ , _cant wait to see u later ive never seen an emmy UP CLOSE_. Richard can barely type out a “thanks” before he’s relocated to the press room backstage.

Richard is chatting with Claire Foy, trying his best to be a gentleman, but his phone keeps vibrating in his pocket - a barrage of texts and calls, no doubt, from friends/family/co-stars - and he can’t help that his gaze keeps flitting to the main entrance to observe who’s trickling in. No Taron yet. Claire is intercepted by _The Crown_ cast and a photographer, and Richard shuffles backwards, now alone at the bar. He takes out his phone, swipes past a lock screen full of notifications, and starts to compose a message to Taron. _You at the Netflix party yet_ \--

“Who’re you texting?” comes a familiar voice from behind Richard, accompanied by a gentle hand on the small of his back. “You just won a fucking Emmy and you’re texting.” Richard turns around and it’s Taron, of course it’s Taron, grinning with his head cocked to the side.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Richard asks, pulling Taron into a hug. He’s allowed to be a little languorous this time, holding Taron close enough to feel the fluttering of his heart against his chest. “Was about to text you, mate.”

“I’ve been here for a bit, didn’t want to interrupt your _gladhanding_ n’all that,” Taron says.

“‘Gladhanding,’ new vocabulary word?” Richard teases.

“Yeah, heard it on TV and thought it sounded cool,” Taron volleys back. Richard laughs, big and open, feeling lit up and shining in Taron’s presence. Taron takes a sip of his drink. “But yeah, been around, I was just watching you be the man of the hour. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Very respectful.”

“It was kind of fun watching you with everyone. Had to stop myself from leaning over to who I was talking to and say, like, ‘Oi, look at him, all bigshot now, but I've actually made out with him and he’s a really good kisser--”

“Never really took you for a starfucker, T,” Richard says, fond.

It’s Taron’s turn to laugh. “Well, why else would I be talking to you?”

A photographer approaches the two and they turn toward the camera. She snaps a few photos of them, Taron smiling big holding Richard’s statuette as if he’d won the award, Richard’s eyes crinkled with laughter.

When the photographer leaves, Richard inches almost imperceptibly closer to Taron. Taron notices, moves in a little, absentmindedly rubs the hem of Richard’s jacket between his fingers. “Where are you staying?” Richard asks.

“The Ace.”

“A bit far.”

“Yeah, don’t really like Beverly Hills, though.”

“Are you going to invite me round?”

Taron’s eyes shine, open a little bit wider. “‘Course,” Taron breathes. “Didn’t know if you--”

Before he can finish, a Netflix VP approaches, puts a hand on Richard’s arm. “Richard, I just wanted to congratulate you...”

Richard lets himself be shepherded away to a group of executives. He looks at Taron over his shoulder, gives him an apologetic eyebrow raise meant to communicate _We’ll continue this conversation later_. Taron smiles back, earnestly, and orders another drink.

***

Around midnight, Richard finds Taron again, standing in a small cluster of people outside. Richard sidles up to him, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and says quietly, “Can I steal you?” Taron excuses himself and walks with Richard.

“I was having a conversation, wanker,” Taron says. Richard looks at him and he’s all smiles.

“Well, this is more important, obviously,” Richard says. “Want to go? Have anywhere else to get to?”

“Nah, was just this and CAA. Are you coming to mine, to the hotel?”

“I’d like to.” They’re outside. SUVs with pitch black tinted windows pull up to the curb. There are people everywhere, so Richard just stops to look at Taron. Taron looks a little dazed, thrumming with a desire that makes Richard want to reach out and grab. “I don’t really feel like going home.”

Taron laughs quietly, suddenly a little shy, a little desperate for it. Talented, handsome Richard, holding his Emmy, looking at him with equal parts hunger and joy. Taron would drop to his knees right there if he could. Richard can tell.

They get into the back of a car and Richard instructs the driver to take them to the Ace Hotel. There’s no partition between them and the front, so they sit a respectable distance apart. Richard stretches out, loosens his bowtie, lets his legs loll open. He tips his head back against the headrest, can’t wipe the smile off his face.

“How’s it feel?” Taron asks.

“Fucking amazing. Exhausting.” Richard tilts his head to smile at Taron. “I’m glad you’re here, though, I missed you.”

“Going to be seeing more of me again. _Rocketman_ awards promo soon.”

“Good.” Richard reaches over, places a hand on Taron’s thigh. Taron shifts in his seat, anything to get a bit closer. Richard feels a rush, letting his hand sit hot and broad on Taron’s leg.

Richard’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He groans. While he scrolls through his notifications, he asks Taron, “What’s the statute of limitations on how many bloody texts I have to answer tonight?”

“Depends on who they’re from.”

“Dex sent me a nice one, actually.” Richard taps out a response with one hand, keeping the other firmly on Taron’s thigh. “Hey, smile, for Dex.” Taron turns to Richard and is blinded by camera flash.

“Feeling cheeky tonight, I see,” Taron says, grimacing at the photo of him washed out and squinting.

“Isn’t that cute?” Richard hits send and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He moves his hand up to Taron’s face, cups his cheek briefly, rubs his thumb over Taron’s lips. Richard watches as Taron lets his eyes close for just a moment. His heart squeezes with affection. He removes his hand and keeps them in his lap for the rest of the ride, smug smile on his face upon seeing Taron’s dismayed reaction.

***

As soon as Taron unlocks the door to his room Richard has him up against the wall, close but not rough, nosing up near his jaw and pressing wet, sucking kisses to his neck. He nips at Taron’s skin. Taron whines. Richard feels like he could eat Taron whole. He settles for kissing Taron deep and slow and all-consuming, his hands holding Taron’s face. Taron ruts up against Richard’s thigh parting his legs, a dragging sort of grind that leaves his mouth agape so Richard can lick inside.

Taron pulls away to shuck off his coat, and Richard ventures further into the hotel room. He pats at his pockets. “Need a fucking cigarette, mate,” he says, pulling a carton from inside his jacket.

“Is this what it’s like to hook up with a movie star?” Taron says in a jokey gee-willikers sort of voice, following Richard into the room. “Leave me high and dry. Only here for a cigarette break on my nice balcony.”

Richard laughs, sliding open the door to the small balcony. “You should be so lucky. Even brought my hardware and everything.” He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and leans against the railing. He searches for a lighter in his pockets and comes up empty. “Got a light, love?”

“I think so.” Taron roots through his bag at the foot of his bed. He finds a lighter, holds it aloft as if he’s going to toss it to Richard. Richard beckons instead. Taron steps onto the balcony.

“Can you?” Richard says when Taron gets up close, smiling at the corniness of his request, like an old Hollywood star with the cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Taron rolls his eyes but acquiesces, flicking the lighter on and holding it to the tip. Richard takes a drag and exhales a plume of smoke over his shoulder. When he turns back, he pulls Taron into a kiss, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

As Taron bites a bruise on the front of Richard’s neck, Richard takes another quick drag. “You know, usually I don’t approve,” Taron murmurs, “but you look so fucking good right now it’s almost sick.”

Richard tips his head back and exhales with a smile. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I think so, arsehole.” Richard laughs and taps the ash off the end of his cigarette. Taron grips Richard’s jaw and kisses him deep. Richard is hard, can’t help but gasp and shiver when Taron rubs the flat of his palm over the bulge in his trousers. “Can I suck you off?” Taron asks against Richard’s lips.

“Please,” Richard says.

Taron unzips Richard’s fly and takes out his cock. He strokes him to full hardness as Richard sucks on his cigarette, dazed and dreamy, eyes half shut. His phone vibrates intermittently in his pocket but he ignores it, focusing on the slow, sensuous slide of Taron’s hand on his cock, the relaxing deflation of his stomach when he exhales.

Taron gets on his knees. Richard immediately brings a hand to Taron’s hair, stretches the other arm out on the balcony. “Gonna get your trousers dirty,” Richard says, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and jerking his head at Taron’s knees, his expensive pants directly on the dusty balcony floor.

“Don’t much care,” Taron replies. He sucks on the head of Richard’s cock, eyes fluttering at the taste of it, clean and salty. Richard groans, smoke billowing above Taron’s head. He gives a small thrust of his hips and Taron takes the hint, pressing forward and taking as much of Richard in his mouth as he can.

“Fuck,” Richard says. He ashes the cigarette again with one hand, tugs at Taron’s hair with the other. He feels Taron’s throat constrict around him, a wet smooth heat milking his cock as Taron nudges his nose at Richard’s stomach. He pulls off with an obscene noise, like coming up to the surface for air, that makes Richard’s gut twist with arousal. Taron’s lips are bright red and slick. He catches his breath as he works Richard’s dick with one hand. “Perfect, T,” Richard says. He presses two fingers of his free hand against Taron’s mouth and Taron sucks, eyes falling shut again.

As Richard takes a drag and watches Taron, blissed out on his knees, pretty and needy, his phone vibrates in his pocket again. This time it’s not a text, it’s the distinct pattern of a phone call, unrelenting and annoying. Richard groans. “You gonna answer that?” Taron says, looking up at Richard and squeezing the base of his cock.

“Serious?” Richard says, a gleam in his eye.

“Answer it,” Taron says.

Richard pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers it on the last ring. “Hello,” he says. Taron takes him in his mouth again and Richard gnaws on his bottom lip. “Oh, thanks mate, thanks so much, yeah—“ Taron bobs his head up and down on Richard’s dick, wet, thorough, the pressure making Richard squeeze his eyes shut and take a drag on what remains of his cigarette.

“No, I’m back at my hotel now, relatively early night, yeah, nothing crazy,” Richard says into the phone, pained. He taps the ash of the cigarette and puts his hand on the back of Taron’s head, careful not to let the cigarette touch Taron’s hair. He begins a slow, rhythmic thrust. Taron braces himself on Richard’s thighs. “I’m thrilled, mate, I really—“ He bites back a moan as Taron chokes on his cock. “No, sorry, having a cigarette break.” He forces out a performative laugh.

Taron pulls off Richard’s cock, mouth and chin sloppy wet. He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand. Richard tilts his head back and shuts his eyes at the sight, painfully hard. Taron tries to conceal his self-satisfied smile. As Taron continues to stroke Richard’s dick, he ducks down to lick at his balls, takes one into the searing heat of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for calling, thanks for watching it,” Richard says, exhaling a final cloud of smoke and stifling a whine. “Of course, man, we’ll get together when I’m back home. Thanks.” Richard’s hands are shaking, and he starts to pull the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, talk later. Take care.” He hangs up as fast as he can and shudders, moans loud. “Oh my god, Taron, fuck you.”

Taron gives Richard another slow, slick stroke and grins. “Who was that?”

“Friend from home, doesn’t matter,” Richard says, urging Taron back towards his cock. Taron just keeps torturing him, luxuriating in the slide of his hand on his dick.

“A little rude that you didn’t tell him hello from me,” Taron teases.

“Just— I need your mouth, please, gonna come.”

Taron swallows Richard down to the base. Richard places his hands on Taron’s shoulders and ruts against him, gritting his teeth and letting out deep moans. Richard pulls out of Taron’s mouth and strokes once, twice, and shoots onto his chin and neck. Taron hums contentedly, shakily gets to his feet, and Richard pulls him in for an unashamed kiss, swiping his thumb through his come and tasting himself on Taron’s mouth.

“You’re filthy,” Richard says, licking up Taron’s neck, a means of cleaning him up and marking his territory.

“ _I_ am?” Taron laughs, pressing his whole body against Richard’s.

Richard wedges a muscled thigh between Taron’s leg and feels Taron’s cock straining in his trousers. “Yeah, making me take a fucking call. Dirty.”

“To be fair, it was extremely hot,” Taron sighs, grinding against Richard’s leg. He buries his face in Richard’s neck, rolling his hips expertly. Richard rubs a hand over Taron’s back.

“Gonna come like this?” Richard murmurs in Taron’s ear.

“Yeah, wanna.”

“Do it, do it for me,” Richard says. He pushes his thigh up, harder against Taron. Taron puts his mouth against Richard’s neck, breathing hot and humid and desperate, until his hips stutter and he lets out a little shout, coming in his pants on Richard’s thigh. “So good,” Richard says, stroking at Taron’s hair.

Taron kisses Richard. “You’re right, this is pretty fucking gross,” he says, smiling.

Richard laughs. “I like you gross, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Emmy winners, they’re just like us.”

Richard cackles, unwraps his arms from around Taron and stretches out, runs his hands through his hair, relaxed and joyful. “Sure you don’t want a cigarette, T?” he asks, taking Taron’s hand and going back into the hotel room. “Think you need one, you look a little out of it.” He smiles at Taron, who’s exhausted and refuses to detach himself from Richard’s side.

“I’m good. Just pay for my dry cleaning.”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

Taron splays out on the bed and Richard heads into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. Richard straddles Taron’s chest, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth, and wipes his chin and neck clean. “Look at you, all doting,” Taron says.

Richard kisses him hard again, over and over and over until Taron laughs and he laughs and the washcloth lies abandoned on the floor.


End file.
